


Parlay

by Cavalierious



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Pirate!AU, Sylvix Week 2020 (Fire Emblem), high seas au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26615614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavalierious/pseuds/Cavalierious
Summary: This time Sylvain's more than doubled his money, he's doubled his life.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 34
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	Parlay

**Author's Note:**

> No promises this won't turn into an actual AU. 
> 
> CW for a vague depiction of stitching up a wound. It's very minor.

~~ Injuries/Healing ~~ / Protection /  ~~ High Seas AU ~~

* * *

“You don’t seem the type to dabble with our kind of lot.”

Sylvain turns to the voice, meeting the youthful face of the captain. He’s younger than expected, but severe-looking with a narrow and angular face and circles cut so deep underneath his eyes that Sylvain wonders exactly what it was that put them there.

“Yeah,” says Sylvain, a signature smirk spreading wide across his face, channeling his well-practiced facade, “Pi--”

“Smugglers,” says the captain, interrupting. 

“Smugglers,” repeats Sylvain. He’s not sure why the man cares because everyone already knows what they actually are.  _ Pirates. _ A dubious lot known for bloodshed and riots, and rum and indulgence. Looking around the ship though, it looks more like a tightly run and well-oiled machine, than a drunken schooner. 

The captain watches him for a long moment, midnight hair ruffling in the soft sea breeze. He looks mean, but not mean enough to be in this line of work. Then again, Sylvain’s new to all of this, so it’s not like he knows what to expect.

He’s only heard the wild stories of  _ Felix the Blood Red _ and his rag-tag group of misfits. 

“You’re a little green,” says Felix. 

“Oh, I’m used to the sea--”

“I didn’t mean ill.” Felix has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Sylvain with a critical eye. “I meant new to smuggling.” Nothing seems to escape the man. Sylvain will have to tread lightly. 

“Well, I used to run my goods legitimately,” says Sylvain, rubbing at his neck. “My father trusted me to overlook his operations.”

“Should he have?” asks Felix. 

“Should he have what?” asks Sylvain. 

“Trusted you,” says Felix, impatience creeping into his tone. 

“Yes,” says Sylvain. Then he pauses. “At least, until he dealt with the kinds of goods that I don’t like.”

“Drugs?” asks Felix.

“Worse,” says Sylvain. He doesn’t need to elaborate for the both of them to glean his meaning. They both fall silent, Felix’s mouth twitching with slight annoyance and Sylvain feels a little bit guilty. “Oh don’t give me that look, I haven’t brought anything illegal aboard. You can check the crates.”

“Then why hire us?” asks Felix, nosier than Sylvain would like. But where he in his position, Sylvain might be just as nosey, if not more. Mostly because Felix is a cunning and interesting man at first glance. And he bets that the mystery only gets better the more he learns. 

“I’m not taking them to where they are supposed to go,” Sylvain says simply. “My father wants things shipped south to the Empire.” 

“We’re going north to Sreng,” Felix deadpans. 

“Might I remind you that I _ am _ Sylvain Gautier.” The Gautier family, also known as the ginger scourge of the north, also known as  _ super doesn’t trade with the Srengese. _ For reasons.

Felix looks at him differently now that he knows Sylvain’s funneling his father’s goods to the people that his family has all but destroyed over the centuries, lips tugged into a small little frown. And for a moment, Sylvain is worried that Felix will call off the job and dump his shipment into the sea. Sylvain would. He’s inviting more trouble than his coin is probably worth, and that’s not just him talking about his mission. 

But then Felix drops his arms and sighs. “It’s none of my business,” says Felix.

“Felix--”

“That’s Captain to you,” Felix cuts in, leveling Sylvain with a solid glare. Then he turns away without another word. Sylvain watches him retreat with a rare smile, truly interested in the man. 

Captain, it is. 

#

It becomes Felix’s business months later after a high seas firefight with one of Sylvain’s father’s ships. It’s the third run that they’ve done together after the first proved to be successful. 

“Shit,” Sylvain groans, arching up from the cot he’s spread out on. Mercedes hushes him but doesn’t let up, pressing the disinfectant against him with more force. “Merce, that  _ burns--” _

“Surely not as bad as my ship does,” says Felix from the doorway.

Sylvain’s mouth dries up at the sight of him because Felix is beautiful when he’s on edge and wired red-hot, face smudged with sweat and soot. He scowls at the sight of Sylvain, softens slightly at the sight of Mercedes, and then acerbically asks for the room to be cleared. His crew does as he asks, leaving the two of them alone.

“For the record,” starts Sylvain, “I thought it’d take longer for him to come after his shit.”

“After you, you mean,” says Felix. 

“I meant what I said,” says Sylvain. A pregnant silence stretches between them before Felix lets out an annoyed grunt, crossing the room and dropping into the chair beside where Sylvain’s laying. He jerks Sylvain’s shirt up with none of the tenderness that Mercedes is known for and Sylvain hisses at the touch. 

“You’ll live,” says Felix once he gets a good look. 

“So I’ll make it?” says Sylvain in jest. 

“Unfortunately,” says Felix with a little bite to his tone. But then his tone softens a little. “As long as it’s stitched up right and you don’t pull at it.”

“You told Merce to leave.”

“She taught me how to sew,” says Felix, pulling open her medical kit.

“The holes in your clothes!” Sylvain’s seen Felix mend clothes on slow afternoons, laying out below the noon sun and enjoying the ocean breeze. It’s a nice sight, one that he’s come to like, even if it has to be observed from afar. Felix is so rarely relaxed and never so much around him. 

“The concept is the same,” says Felix. Then he sighs. “Look, I know how to stitch up a wound. I’ve done it plenty.”

The War, Sylvain assumes then, where Fearghus lost their King to the Empire and the nobility left sold their souls to the enemy for a small chance at survival. Gautier’s done relatively well in the aftermath and reconstruction because brownnosing is what his father is best at. Felix had seemed more like a soldier than a pirate, something Sylvain noticed after just a week on board.

Sylvain doesn’t ask for an explanation and Felix doesn’t give one. Instead, he threads a needle with thick, coarse thread. He disinfects the gash in Sylvain’s side once more for good measure and then jabs the needle through his skin with little ceremony. 

“Warn a man!” Sylvain shouts, trying his best to not jerk. 

Felix’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “First time getting stitches, then.”

“No,” says Sylvain, but then a small whine bubbles up through his lips. “Yes.”

Sylvain’s seen battle like anyone else in his station, but as the former heir to the Gautier fortune, it’d been a figurehead title more than anything. He’d spent most of his wartime in tents on the backlines, moving figures around, and wooing bedmates to just feel a little bit of something in his pathetic misery. 

“My ship will be fine,” says Felix, tugging at the gash to properly close it. “There’s more damage to the sails, but nothing that can’t be fixed.”

Sylvain is quiet for a moment. “I really am sorry.”

Felix is quiet for a moment too, and then he says, “It’s the job. Sometimes it goes well, sometimes it doesn’t. We’ve pulled through worse.”

“My only goal is to get food and clothing to the people who need it,” says Sylvain. 

“I know. It’s the only reason that I haven’t thrown you overboard yet.” Felix pulls the thread tight and knots it, before cutting the excess. “For the record, we sunk their ship.”

“Good riddance,” says Sylvain. 

Felix watches him as he wipes his hands off on a rag. “You hate him. Your father, I mean.”

“Hate’s a strong word.” But when he meets Felix’s gaze, Sylvain’s eyes are a testy sea storm, and he’s practically frothing at the mouth in barely contained rage. “Okay, hate’s not a strong enough word.”

“I understand,” says Felix in a rare moment of personal expression. He runs his fingers over Sylvain’s ribs under the pretense of checking the wound one last time, but to Sylvain, it feels like an entirely different sort of touch. Especially because it lingers for just a little bit too long to be merely friendly. 

“Captain,” starts Sylvain, reaching out to grasp at his hand. Felix doesn’t pull away, allowing the touch.

“Felix,” says Felix. “You can-- Look, Felix is fine.”

“It’s fine,” murmurs Sylvain, his free hand snaking up to brush Felix’s sweaty bangs back. “Are you sure that my highly moral do-gooding is the only reason you haven’t thrown me overboard?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” says Felix, but it lacks bite as he leans into the touch. 

“I’m glad I won’t die,” says Sylvain, “and I’m glad we’ll do more runs together.” A pause. “We  _ will _ continue our business, right?”

“Fool,” says Felix. 

“Your fool?” asks Sylvain hopefully. 

“You’re pushing your luck.”

“Is it working?”

They look at each other for a moment before Felix swoops down, pressing a kiss against Sylvain’s lips. It’s a sweet thing, far sweeter than Sylvain expects Felix to be. It’s all softness, lacking his carefully honed sharp edges, warm and kind, and genuine. 

“So it worked,” says Sylvain against his lips, unable to stop himself from slipping into his teasing mask. Felix pulls away, a soft scowl on his lips. He lets go and stands. “I was joking,” says Sylvain. “Joking!”

“I can still make you walk the plank,” says Felix coolly.

“But you won’t,” says Sylvain. 

There’s a beat and then Felix smiles actually smiles, and it’s weirdly radiant and Sylvain never wants to stop seeing it. “No, I won’t,” says Felix quietly. “But I can make you suffer in the meantime.” Then he turns to leave the small room. 

“Come back,” says Sylvain as pathetically as he can. “I’m sorry!”

But then he hears the soft murmurs of the crew outside and then a short laugh that is distinctly Felix’s. Sylvain smiles. He’s injured, they’ve lost their sails and his father has put a number on his head. But Sylvain does good; he funnels his father’s goods to the people who actually need them. 

And he’s got Felix. He doesn’t really know how or why, but he’s somehow managed, and he has no intention of ever letting go. Sylvain’s placed a lot of bets in his life, but rarely pan out the way that he wants them too. But this time? He’s more than doubled his money, he’s doubled his entire life.

So when Sylvain smiles it’s the first time in a long time that it actually means something. 

**Author's Note:**

> I made a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/_Cavalierious_) specifically to cater to the fact I've started writing again.


End file.
